Read Online Arena by John Jakes - Free Book Online
Authors: John Jakes
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Historical, Rome, Action & Adventure, History, Animal trainers, Nero; 54-68
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nights in a row. The Emperor is so enamored of that little whore, I have no choice but to fawn over her and play her lover to divert public suspicion from him.
Otherwise his mother Agrippina and his wife Octavia would be stirring up more trouble than they are already. What a fine role for a man my age! Forced to giggle and joke over a prostitute!
Although,” he added, his features gentling, “other things aside, she’s pretty enough, and has a pleasant temper.”
From a tray Seneca broke sections of a loaf of bread and ate two. Then he extended the tray to me. I took a piece, knowing again the miracle of being rich. For this was not the cheap, coarsepanis sordidus of the streets, but the sweet and yeasty siligineus, which I had never tasted.
“Perhaps you wonder, Cassisus,” the philosopher said, “why we speak so frankly about the Emperor.”
“It’s not my position to say. I can only guess it’s because you sympathize with his weaknesses.”
Seneca laughed. “And it’s clear from your tone you don’t. Neither do we. Personally, I would much prefer to live the retired life I mentioned, writing plays and tending to my foreign estates, than capering on the Palatine. By my lights, life is a bad lot at best. It’s made bearable only by study and contemplation in solitude. On the other hand, Serenus and I both feel someone must attempt to curb the Emperor’s peculiar tastes and temper. We and his other chief adviser, the Prefect of the Praetorian Guard, Sextus Afranius Burrus, deplore his unbridled emotions, his egotism. But we bow and scrape to him because we’re fully aware of what the people’s lot would be if Nero ruled unchecked. So don’t think too harshly of Serenus for the company he keeps. We are, so to speak, watchdogs over a very rowdy and savage animal. How long we’ll be allowed to remain watchdogs, no one can say.”
Inwardly I felt contempt for the selflessness of these two men. How was it possible to make one’s way in Rome while worrying about the welfare of the masses? I said nothing, however.
Serenus grumbled, “Personally, I don’t intend to remain the butt of jokes in the Forum much longer. Nor serve as a screen for that mad boy’s passion for Acte.”
“Acte!” I blurted the word, my palms suddenly cold.
Seneca scrutinized me. “Yes. The young prostitute we mentioned. Do you know her?”
“She’s the one I went to Sulla’s to visit. Foolishly, it turned out.”
“Thus far you’ve said precious little about yourself, Cassius,” Serenus broke in. “Are you a freedman?”
“I was.” I decided to risk the truth. “I am auctorati, from the Bestiarii School.”
When this had penetrated, Serenus complained, “Oh, splendid. We have a fugitive on our hands.”
“How did this happen?” the philosopher asked. “Because of Acte, you ran away from the Page 23
school?”
“Only for one night. I meant to return. Now it’s too late.”
With guarded words I told them that Acte and I had become acquainted when she visited the school. I described my nocturnal visit to Sulla’s as a lustful lark, rather than the agonizing experience it had turned out to be. At the end Seneca commented, “Certainly the fates weren’t kind when you decided on that particular girl. You’ve involved yourself in a very tangled affair.
The Emperor is already experiencing great difficulty with his mother Agrippina because he wishes to divorce his wife and marry his mistress.”
At last the dismal truth crushed home. “The Emperor has been seeing Acte a long while?”
“No, only a few weeks,” Serenus told me. “She’s not the mistress Seneca referred to. That’s a little yellow-haired strumpet named Poppaea Sabina. A divorcee who makes a specialty of bathing daily in the milk of young asses. The Emperor’s fancy for Acte is merely one more of his temporary passions, of which there seem to be hundreds. He’ll use her for what she’s worth, then discard her.”
And she’ll use
Otherwise his mother Agrippina and his wife Octavia would be stirring up more trouble than they are already. What a fine role for a man my age! Forced to giggle and joke over a prostitute!
Although,” he added, his features gentling, “other things aside, she’s pretty enough, and has a pleasant temper.”
From a tray Seneca broke sections of a loaf of bread and ate two. Then he extended the tray to me. I took a piece, knowing again the miracle of being rich. For this was not the cheap, coarsepanis sordidus of the streets, but the sweet and yeasty siligineus, which I had never tasted.
“Perhaps you wonder, Cassisus,” the philosopher said, “why we speak so frankly about the Emperor.”
“It’s not my position to say. I can only guess it’s because you sympathize with his weaknesses.”
Seneca laughed. “And it’s clear from your tone you don’t. Neither do we. Personally, I would much prefer to live the retired life I mentioned, writing plays and tending to my foreign estates, than capering on the Palatine. By my lights, life is a bad lot at best. It’s made bearable only by study and contemplation in solitude. On the other hand, Serenus and I both feel someone must attempt to curb the Emperor’s peculiar tastes and temper. We and his other chief adviser, the Prefect of the Praetorian Guard, Sextus Afranius Burrus, deplore his unbridled emotions, his egotism. But we bow and scrape to him because we’re fully aware of what the people’s lot would be if Nero ruled unchecked. So don’t think too harshly of Serenus for the company he keeps. We are, so to speak, watchdogs over a very rowdy and savage animal. How long we’ll be allowed to remain watchdogs, no one can say.”
Inwardly I felt contempt for the selflessness of these two men. How was it possible to make one’s way in Rome while worrying about the welfare of the masses? I said nothing, however.
Serenus grumbled, “Personally, I don’t intend to remain the butt of jokes in the Forum much longer. Nor serve as a screen for that mad boy’s passion for Acte.”
“Acte!” I blurted the word, my palms suddenly cold.
Seneca scrutinized me. “Yes. The young prostitute we mentioned. Do you know her?”
“She’s the one I went to Sulla’s to visit. Foolishly, it turned out.”
“Thus far you’ve said precious little about yourself, Cassius,” Serenus broke in. “Are you a freedman?”
“I was.” I decided to risk the truth. “I am auctorati, from the Bestiarii School.”
When this had penetrated, Serenus complained, “Oh, splendid. We have a fugitive on our hands.”
“How did this happen?” the philosopher asked. “Because of Acte, you ran away from the Page 23
school?”
“Only for one night. I meant to return. Now it’s too late.”
With guarded words I told them that Acte and I had become acquainted when she visited the school. I described my nocturnal visit to Sulla’s as a lustful lark, rather than the agonizing experience it had turned out to be. At the end Seneca commented, “Certainly the fates weren’t kind when you decided on that particular girl. You’ve involved yourself in a very tangled affair.
The Emperor is already experiencing great difficulty with his mother Agrippina because he wishes to divorce his wife and marry his mistress.”
At last the dismal truth crushed home. “The Emperor has been seeing Acte a long while?”
“No, only a few weeks,” Serenus told me. “She’s not the mistress Seneca referred to. That’s a little yellow-haired strumpet named Poppaea Sabina. A divorcee who makes a specialty of bathing daily in the milk of young asses. The Emperor’s fancy for Acte is merely one more of his temporary passions, of which there seem to be hundreds. He’ll use her for what she’s worth, then discard her.”
And she’ll use
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